Wildflowers, Percy Jackson ₁

042, chat we're so cooked

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

₊˚࿐࿔ 𖥧‧₊⚘ ❀༉. 𓏲｡

Sylvie wanted to tell you that everything worked out the way it was supposed to. She wished so badly that the chaos on Mount St. Helens went the same way every journey of theirs did—things went to shit, but somehow, by some divine intervention of the gods, they made it alive.

But she couldn't.

None of it felt real, and Sylvie was still in the sort of state where she believed none of it was real. Her brain couldn't comprehend the fact that Percy—brave, untouchable, persevering Percy—was gone. He was the one person Sylvie believed would always be there, and now he was gone.

But Annabeth told her the reality of the situation: Mount St. Helens erupted, Percy was inside, and now there was no sign of him anywhere. He was immune to water, not to fire. He was gone.

Sylvie couldn't handle it.

She was a mess when they made it to Hephaestus. She wasn't even sure how she got there without her legs completely giving out. She didn't listen to a word of what the god said—her thoughts were too rampant to calm down. Percy was gone. Percy was gone. Percy was gone.

That's how Sylvie found out it could get a million times worse. All at once the weight of Percy's sacrifice came crashing down on her, there in Hephaestus's workshop. Before Sylvie knew it, her breaths were speeding up, her vision was distorting, and it felt like she was having a heart attack.

No, not a heart attack. A panic attack. Right there, in front of Hephaestus.

Sylvie hated herself for it, and would later wish to die out of shame and embarrassment, but she couldn't stop it. She couldn't breathe. Everything felt so far away, and Percy, well, he was the farthest out of everything. Just when Sylvie thought she might have a chance with him, he slipped through her fingers like water. He was out of reach, just like he'd always been, but now it was different. It was the universe that ripped Percy from Sylvie, not Percy himself.

Without Percy, Sylvie had nothing to ground her. No rock to hold onto when the waves of fear became all too much. No reason to try and be something greater than she was.

Without Percy, Sylvie was just herself. And Sylvie couldn't stand herself.

Sylvie couldn't say what happened during or after the panic attack in front of Hephaestus, because she couldn't remember what happened. She was there, but then she wasn't, and voices were speaking to her, but Sylvie couldn't even try to make out what they were saying. One second, she was in Hephaestus's workshop, and the next, she was at Camp Half-Bood.

The first week was the hardest.

Sylvie was still drifting in that real-or-dreaming state—She knew everything that happening was real, but she was still so sure that it couldn't be. At least, not all of it. There was no way Percy kissed her, and there was no way he was dead. Maybe Mount St. Helens did blow up, but... he was Percy. How could any of this even make sense?

Everywhere Sylvie went, it was "Where's Percy?" or "What happened to you guys?" or "Are Grover and Tyson okay?"or some other questions that Sylvie didn't have the heart to answer. Wouldn't even try to answer if she wanted to. They left with five, but they came back with two. Sylvie didn't understand it either. She didn't know where Percy was, she didn't know what happened to them, and she didn't know if Grover and Tyson were okay.